


Bloodlust

by CoffeeQuill



Series: All Things Turn to Dust [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Assault, Heavy Drinking, Holy Water, Hunters, Injury Recovery, Laflams, M/M, Threats of Violence, Vampire AU, Vampire Hunters, Vampires, Vampirism, Violence, Wooden Stakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 17:44:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeQuill/pseuds/CoffeeQuill
Summary: For a moment, he thought about telling them, but pushed that thought away and opened the door. Perhaps he was a fledgling, still a young vampire, but he was a grown man as well. He could handle walking a few blocks for a drink.He hadn't realized that London was full of vampire hunters.





	Bloodlust

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic in the vamp universe!

John gazed out the window at the cloudy London sky. Grey skies were usual, he knew, with the occasional day of sunshine. It made him miss home, the hot South Carolinian summers and the bright blue sky; he supposed he shouldn’t, though. That life was far behind him. He wouldn’t be going back.

Down the hallway, something shattered, and he flinched as he was pulled out of his thoughts.

“You’re such a goddamn brat--”

_ “I’m  _ a brat? For knowing what I want? Fucking Christ, Laf--”

“You’re a brat for being this selfish! It’s not just  _ you,  _ Alex, it’s me and John too!”

John let out a sigh and shifted in the window seat. He reached out and unlocked the window, pushing it out; a cool breeze came in, smelling perfectly of London. He took a deep breath of it. His senses now were sharper than they had ever been, and while London felt foreign to him, it was a change of scenery from the streets of Philadelphia.

It was only their third day after moving to London and the arguing had not ceased. Alex’s years of insisting that he stay in Washington’s cabinet, despite Lafayette’s objections, had put a rift between the two. Both pushed him to take sides, one or the other, and so far he had managed to slip out of it.

“I know that! You think I don’t?”

John looked down the street, then took a deep breath and closed the window again. Slipping off the seat, he walked down the hallway, his footsteps quiet against the wooden floor without shoes. The house felt small in comparison to what he was used to, but he didn’t mind much.

He leaned into the other bedroom. “Daddy?” he asked softly.

Lafayette and Alex were standing by the bed; Alex’s hair was wet from a bath, and Lafayette appeared beyond frustrated from his seat on the bed. The argument ceased and both looked up at John.

“Yes, love?” Lafayette said.

“I’m hungry,” he said, then bit a fang into his lip. “... Uh. Just a little.”

Alex let out a sudden groan, turning away. Lafayette shot him a hard look before standing up, walking over to John with a smile. “I am, too, little one,” he said.

“Can we find a boy?” John asked, stepping forward. He wrapped his arms around Lafayette, resting his cheek against his sire’s chest.

“Soon, my darling.” Lafayette smiled and kissed his forehead. “We will find a hunting ground soon and find a boy to feed from. Just be patient.”

“Why do we have to wait?” John said, looking up at him. He let out a whine. “I don’t want to be patient.”

“We can’t just walk into a tavern and grab a boy.” Lafayette leaned down to kiss his jaw, his fangs scraping just slightly against John’s skin. “It has to be the right kind of tavern. If high profile people go there, we can’t afford the suspicion. That takes time to figure out. We must be sure there’s no chance of running into a hunter.”

John frowned.

“Even then, it will take time to properly seduce a boy. It’s easy to pick the wrong one; a boy who will reject us and make a scene.” Lafayette gave him another kiss. “It’s getting late in the day. We’ll find a boy tomorrow.”

“I can’t sleep when I’m hungry,” John whispered.

“I know, darling. But sometimes, we must go hungry in the name of protecting ourselves.” Lafayette held him tight. The kisses to his skin made John gasp in pleasure, feeling sensitive. He pressed as close as he could -- and the kisses stopped.

“Unless,” Lafayette said. He glanced at Alex. “... We teach you a different method.”

Alex looked over from the window. That irritated expression remained on his face. “What method?” he muttered.

“It’s much more primal,” Lafayette said, turning back to John. “More animalistic than we like. But to lie in wait and ambush our prey, the way we were first taught--”

“Jesus, Laf, that’s just stupid!” Alex snapped. “We don’t hunt like that, he doesn’t need to be taught--”

_ “Shut up, Alexander!”  _ Lafayette’s voice made John jump, echoing through the small room. “We’re both  _ hungry  _ and we’ve got one safe way to get blood. If you want to sit around, complain, and question every decision  _ I  _ make, no one is stopping you from walking out the door!”

Alex was pale. Lafayette rarely  _ yelled,  _ and for all their arguments, John had never heard him snap like this at Alex, much less invite him to walk out.

“Daddy?” he whispered.

Lafayette was scowling. “Go, John,” he muttered. “Other room.”

“But--”

“Out!”

John swallowed and stepped back. Alex managed to look the slightest bit ashamed as Lafayette turned to him, and John walked out of the bedroom. There was a  _ bang  _ as the door was shut behind him, and John felt the cold shock of fear as he jumped.

Their voices raised behind the door. John grimaced, then walked back down the hall towards the other bedroom. He took a deep breath as he sank onto the bed, curled up tight with his knees to his chest.

He looked towards the window and for a moment, his thoughts turned towards home.

_ John Lush.  _ His new name, new alias, the name  _ John Laurens  _ dead now for years. It was an odd feeling in his chest to know that now he was a different person, a different man, and that this was something he would have to adjust to. He found himself slipping often when he gave his name, beginning to say  _ Laurens  _ rather than  _ Lush,  _ and Alex would ask him repeatedly.

_ What’s your name? _

_ John Laur-- Lush. _

_ Laurens is dead, Jacky. You have to forget about it. _

Fiddling with the end of the blanket, John again looked towards the window. The London street was busy, but he recalled passing an old corner tavern when they first moved in. It had seemed quiet. Even if he couldn’t lure a boy, he could at least get a drink. Something to make him feel better.

He could still hear their arguments. They could fight for hours, John was sure; Alex never gave up the argument if he could help it. With a sigh, John slipped off the bed and walked out, towards their dining room. By the front door was a coat stand, his boots sitting beside it; he put them on, then his coat and hat.

With his hand on the door, he glanced back over his shoulder. For a moment, he thought about telling them, but pushed that thought away and opened the door. Perhaps he was a fledgling, still a young vampire, but he was a grown man as well. He could handle walking a few blocks for a drink.

Flipping up his hood, he walked out into the street. Like in New York or Philadelphia, no one paid him any mind as he turned right and began to walk down. Plain memory was guiding him towards the bar they’d passed, and if memory was right, it was only a few turns away. He hoped his senses were correct.

It took him time to stumble upon it.  _ The Red Lion,  _ it was called, the name scrawled out on an aging wooden sign. The lights were on inside, at least, with several patrons sitting around. John took a deep breath, then opened the door and walked inside.

The establishment was lit nicely with candles and lanterns. A few men and women sat at the bar while others were eating and drinking at the tables. Looking around, John lowered his hood before walking to the bar. He slipped into an empty seat, spaced away from the others, and shifted to get comfortable. The man behind the counter looked up, then walked over.

“Lookin’ to order?” he asked.

“Just some whiskey,” John said.

The man nodded and turned away. John slipped a small notebook from his pocket and a pencil, opening to a new page and beginning to doodle. Beside a picture of Alex and Lafayette, he began to draw a Union Jack blowing in the wind. Even as his drink was placed beside him, he barely paid attention, too focused on the thickness of the lines and the detail of the flag.

“This seat taken?”

John looked up. Beside him stood a man in perhaps his forties, his face a little worn by age but not much. Appearing to be a traveler, he had a kind expression on his face.

“No,” he said.

The man slid into the seat beside John, letting out a weary sigh. He then whistled for the barkeep before looking over at John and his notebook. “... Hm. Artist, are you?”

John felt his face heat with blush, looking down at the various portraits and doodles. Lafayette had mentioned his drawings, once, admiring them, but not since then and Alex had never seemed to notice. “I am,” he said. “Not professionally, but…”

“You should consider it. I’m John Wells.”

“John Lush,” John said, and they both grinned. John couldn’t help but feel proud that he’d finally remembered to say his new surname, and especially when it was being said to a stranger. He reached for his whiskey and took a sip. “... Where are you from?”

“Ireland, originally, but I travel all over. I’ve got a unique sort of business that keeps me moving.”

“What kind of business?”

“You could call me a… hunter, of sorts.” Wells flashed him a smile as John tried not to choke, hiding it behind his mug. “Sometimes wild animals get where they’re not supposed to be. I travel around to take care of such things.”

John relaxed at his words, taking a deep breath. Of course Wells wasn’t a vampire hunter; why would he damn well say it out loud to a stranger?

“Wouldn’t local authorities take care of that sort of thing?” John asked.

“Oh, they tend to be cowards about this sort of business.” Wells chuckled, then looked at John. “Where are you from? I think I’ve heard your accent somewhere.”

John smiled. “I’m from America,” he said, although it struck a sense of fear to his gut to say it. His vampires had never told him if that was an okay thing to say -- if he should mention being from America. “... I traveled over recently.”

“Interesting. I haven’t had the chance to cross over.” As Wells’ drink was handed to him, he took a long sip. “... Got any friends here yet?”

John took his own sip and shook his head. “Not… friends, exactly,” he said. “I have two housemates, though.”

“Where would they be at? Not drinkin’ here with you?”

“... No. I slipped out.” He let out a slight laugh, his mind wandering down that path. “They’re fighting. They tend to. I was getting sick of the yelling, so… here I am.” John smiled at Wells, then shrugged. “Just need to wait it out.”

“Sounds exhausting. Here, drinks on me.” Wells gave him that bright smile, and John felt blush creep up in his cheeks.

“Really?” he said. “You don’t even know me.”

“I think I’d like to. Blokes I meet over drinks -- tend to be interesting people.” Wells leaned back, took a long swig of his beer. “... That is, if you’re interested in gettin’ to know each other.”

“I think I’d like to,” John said in a soft voice.

____________

John didn’t know how the conversation was leading from one topic to another, but he certainly wasn’t the one in control. When John gave an opening, Wells was fast to dig in, spending chunks of time just talking without letting John get a word in. Not that he minded too much.

The drinks just kept coming.

As a human, this much alcohol would have had him on the floor, but John was only just starting to feel sluggish. As Wells rambled on about something -- something about his younger sister, though John could’ve sworn they were just talking about the revolution -- he held only his second drink in hand. John was sure he was nursing his eighth. Or maybe more.

Finally, Wells stopped. He eyed John and his mug, then set a hand on John’s shoulder, his grip strong and tight. “You alright there, lad?” he said. “This many drinks might be a bit… excessive.”

“I’m fine,” John muttered, and he was, even if his thoughts felt a little slow. He rubbed at his eyes.

It was getting late. It was dark outside now. God, Alex and Lafayette would be looking for him and he had to find his way home. He grimaced, taking a final swig of his mug before setting it down.

He opened his mouth to excuse himself when he felt Wells grab his arm in a tight squeeze, and only then realized that he’d been leaning over and about to fall. As Wells pulled him straight, he let out a nervous laugh. “Uh… sorry,” he said. “Maybe starting to… feel it.”

“I should think you’d be passed out by now, lad.”

“High tolerance,” John said. Couldn’t really explain that he wasn’t human.

Wells eyed him with a look that felt… oddly critical. John tried not to squirm, hoping he wasn’t so bad a liar. Then Wells just smiled. “Impressive.”

John nodded, letting out a slight laugh, before he stood. “I should… I should go home. My sir-- uh, my… friends… are probably looking for me.”

“I’m sure they are.” Wells slid off his own seat and dropped a pouch of money on the counter. “How’s about we get you home, then, lad? I’m sure you’re about to drop.”

“Home,” John muttered, feeling slow. Wells pulled on his own coat, then threw John’s cloak around his shoulders before wrapping an arm around John’s waist. His arm over his shoulder, he was led towards the back of the bar, through a door. Struggling to stay on his feet, he leaned all his weight on the Irishman, letting out a groan.

They stepped out and into an alleyway, barely lit by a lantern by the bar’s door. As the door swung shut behind them, John let out another grunt and tried to pull away, determined to stand. “‘Im fine,” he muttered. “I’m fine. Really…”

“Sure you are.”

When his weight shifted, he wasn’t ready. Being pulled backwards and then thrown forwards, John let out a cry as he was shoved into a pile of trash that had been set out. It barely softened his landing as his head hit the rough stone of the building. With a groan, he pushed himself up and tried to stand, feeling dazed.

There was a long, low whistle before his shoulders were grabbed. Pulled to stand, he was turned before a knee came to his gut, sending all the air out of him. With a pained whimper, he collapsed to the stone path just as the first rain droplets fell.

“What the hell?” he gasped, looking up as Wells stood over him. “What -- What are you --”

“Too stupid to take a bloody  _ hint  _ when it’s right in front of you?” Wells bent down and gripped the front of his shirt. A thumb pushed against his lips, into his mouth, and pressed against one of his fangs. That cold fear sent chills down his spine. “... Thought so.”

“Y-You said… you hunt -- you hunt animals!”

“I said wild  _ animals  _ that get where they’re not  _ wanted _ .” Wells scowled at him. “Guess what  _ your  _ bloody kind are?”

John whimpered. “How did you--”

“No mortal man has that tolerance.” Wells reached into his jacket and pulled out something. John couldn’t see until it came near the light of the lantern. He let out a breath and started to hyperventilate when the smooth wood of the stake lit up.

Behind Wells, two men stepped into view. Their faces were just out of sight, but John could only guess more hunters. Fear had him shaking as Wells placed the tip of the stake against his chest.

Wells looked over his shoulder, then smiled, looking back to John. “Oi, lads,” he said. “What do you say? Good ol’ fashioned staking?”

“No sword to behead ‘im?” said one of the men, though he sounded more like a boy.

“Could miss,” said the other. He sounded young, too.

“Aye. Could.” Wells looked John up and down in the face, seemed satisfied with the fear he saw. Then he looked over, towards the lantern, and his lips turned into a cold smile. “... I can think of something just as reassuring as a beheading.”

There was a laugh. “Stake to paralyze ‘im, fire to burn ‘im.”

“No!” John cried out, feeling much more sober than before. “No. No. Please.  _ Please,  _ I’ll do  _ anything,  _ just don’t--”

“You’re an abomination,” Wells scowled. “A creature straight from hell. You don’t deserve a moment of mercy. James, get that lantern down.”

John felt like he couldn’t breathe. The stake sat so close to his chest, touching his shirt, that the thought of trying to fight back posed too much risk. Fearful tears filled his eyes and he begged for his vampires to appear around the corner, to save him, for someone to step in and save the day.

But no one did.

“Lucky you,” Wells said, mockery in his voice. “Didn’t expect to run into a vampire tonight. Guess we have to improvise.”

Tears ran down his cheeks as he watched one of the hunters reach for the lantern, the candle flickering inside. He struggled to breathe as it was taken off the wall, and wished he had just asked Lafayette or Alex to come with him. He was sure 

There was a certain desperation behind knowing that you were fighting for your life, and when John’s claws sliced into Wells’ wrist, it was all he could feel. Wells let out a scream, and John pulled his claws back to rip through muscles and tendons. As Wells continued to scream in pain, John lunged a second time, now for his throat. His teeth sunk in, his mouth filling with blood that tasted so foul he wanted to retch. He jerked back, his fangs ripping clean through his skin, and blood began to pour from the wound as Wells collapsed.

When the gun went off, it took John a moment to realize he’d been shot. As blood began to seep from a hole in his chest, John just turned and looked at the man by the lantern— just into his twenties, perhaps, maybe younger. The smoking gun was clutched tight in the hunter’s grip, but as John stumbled towards him, the hunter dropped it. “Shit,” he gasped. “Dan — grab the stake!”

John grabbed the man by his arm, claws digging in. His own shirt was grabbed, and the boy’s hand strayed towards a stake tied to his belt; beside it was a canteen with a cross on it. The stake was pulled from the belt, but John raised his claws to the hunter’s throat and tore across. As blood spurted out, John let him collapse, then turned around. The third hunter was reaching for the stake on the ground, but looked up with fear at John.

He was still young. Perhaps 17 or 18, still fresh faced, younger than the other. He grabbed the stake and pointed it at John, backing away. “Stay back,” he gasped. 

John looked down at the lantern, sitting on the ground by the dying hunter’s feet. He raised his foot and stomped down on it, the glass case shattering. The flame died out. The alley was plunged into pure darkness, and he heard the hunter’s frightened gasp.

Some part of him thought  _ just go.  _ Let him live, he’s just a boy, probably brand new to hunting. But those thoughts disappeared as the rain began to fall harder. John could smell his fear, felt  _ delight  _ in it as he slowly approached. He sidestepped, keeping a circle around the boy. There was satisfaction in it as he edged closer.

His foot kicked a can.

The boy gasped and turned. From his belt, he pulled something, jerked it towards John -- and he couldn’t see what it was until the liquid hit his face.

Holy water  _ burned.  _ John screamed as his hands flew to his face, feeling steam rise off his skin as his flesh burned away like acid. The water dripped down his chin, beneath his shirt, sizzling against his chest. He clutched at his burned skin in agony before the steaming finally died down, and he looked up at the boy.

He was staring at John, his back to the tavern’s wall, face twisted in horror and fear. John felt an unchecked rage in his chest, a kind of anger he’d never experienced before.

“I’m going to fucking  _ drain _ you,” he snarled, in a voice that he didn’t recognize as his own.

“I’m sorry!” the hunter whimpered, eyes wide with fear.

John lunged. He couldn’t remember anything after.

_______________

He was stumbling through unfamiliar streets. Few people were out, if at all, but John kept his cloak raised to cover the worst of his face. Dried hunter’s blood stained his mouth and hands while little had happened to heal his burns. Exhaustion and alcohol sat in his veins and he felt horrible as he walked.

Too many wrong turns.

He was lost.

Anxiety shot through him; he didn’t recognize a single street name, and had no map to guide him to a home he wasn’t really familiar with yet. As he passed home after home, he considered knocking on a door for help.

How to explain his appearance?

Perhaps a human would be willing to believe that he had been attacked. He cringed at his own idea. Only a daft idiot would believe that the blood around his mouth and on his hands made him the  _ victim  _ in a crime. Perhaps if he kept the bottom half of his face covered, just enough to get directions, he could manage it.

He was soaked to the bone. His burns hurt. Out of desperation, he finally turned to a door and knocked.

The light was on in the window, so John prayed -- to no one in particular -- that someone would answer. Raising his cloak to just below his eyes, he hoped the door wouldn’t just slam in his face. Anxiety twisted in his gut.

The door opened.

A single man stood there, dressed in evening attire. He gazed at John for a moment with concern, brows knitted together, and John swallowed.

“Um. Hello.” He sucked in a breath. “I was -- I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m… very lost, and I don’t know where I am. Could you give me directions to--”

“You look to be in a sorry state,  _ mon ami _ . Come inside, before you get more wet!”

The man’s thick French accent was comforting in a familiar way. As the man stepped back, John hesitated, before the sight of a burning fire and food on a table lured him in. He stepped inside and into the light, water dripping off his cloak onto the floor as the man closed the door.

“I am Pierre duPont. You are?”

“John Lush,” John said. “I was, um, attacked, and--”

“Attacked?”

John hesitated, then let his arm drop. He expected horror, fear, for the man to panic and push him back out onto the street.

But the man just sighed and stepped closer, taking gentle hold of John’s face. He took a long look at the burns, on both his face and their trail down his front, before making a  _ tsk  _ noise. “Hunters, correct?” he said.

John stared at him. Then he breathed in, and swallowed. “Y-You’re a -- you’re a vampire?”

_ “Oui.”  _ Pierre stared at him, then let out a groan. “Oh, John, you smell so  _ new.” _

John’s face heated and he pulled off his dripping cloak. “Um--”

“Here. You need to get warm. London can be dangerous at night -- the city crawls with hunters.” Pierre grabbed the cloak from him, letting it hang on the coat rack despite the water. “... Where are you trying to go?”

“Home.” John let out a cough, then realized he was shivering. “... Could really use a bath.”

“Get out of those clothes,” Pierre said. “I’ll start one.”

It took time before the water was heated, but Pierre had leftover food from dinner and though he was still wet and cold, at least there was food to eat. Soon John was easing himself into a hot bath, letting out a groan as he did. He took a deep breath and let the water come up to his shoulders, his muscles relaxing. Though the burns on his chest stung upon contact, he couldn’t complain, too relieved to get the chill out.

“How long have you been in London?”

“A few days,” he mumbled. He looked over and watched as Pierre set down two towels.

“I suppose you took good care of those hunters,” Pierre muttered, watching how fast the water turned red as John began to scrub. “Here. Relax. I’ll do it.”

John tensed when the washcloth was pulled from his hand but relaxed when Pierre began to gently scrub at the dried blood on his neck. “Killed the three,” he mumbled, letting his head roll to the side. “... They were going to burn me. Alive. I just… I don’t know. I was a soldier before, but… I never felt -- I never acted that violent. I just… ripped them apart and didn’t think twice about it.”

“Mm,” Pierre said. The blood came off in flakes. “That will put the London hunters on alert. Three of their own gone… Quite a nuisance.”

“Sorry,” John muttered. His eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion seeping in. He wanted to go to bed, to fall asleep in his vampires’ arms, but considering the circumstances he supposed he should be glad he was here instead of dead. “... Two of them were young. One shot me, and one threw the water on me, and I just… got so angry. One was just a kid.”

“So are you, by our standards at least.” Pierre’s hands slipped lower, towards his hips, making small circles with the washcloth. “... So what’s a little fledgling like you doing on your own?”

“Daddy and Papi were fighting,” John mumbled. “Just… hate hearing them like that. I went to the tavern, just for a drink, for the quiet… met that hunter. He kept buying me drinks. Apparently, that gave me away.”

Pierre made a sympathetic sound. “Something that we consider a luxury can also be our downfall. What makes us better than mortal men also reveals us.”

John brought his hand up to rub the blood from around his mouth. At least his hunger was sated. The water around him was a cloudy red now and he felt ready to just go home.

“‘Daddy’ and ‘Papi’,” Pierre said. “One of them, your sire?”

“Daddy is,” John mumbled. “... Lafayette.”

Pierre stopped. He leaned back, pulling his hands from the water, and stared at John. “...  _ Le Marquis de Lafayette  _ is… your sire?”

John frowned. He sat up in the tub. “Yes,” he said. “You know of him?”

Pierre let out a nervous laugh. “...  _ Many  _ of us vampires know of your sire and Alexander,” he said. “And I… for less savory reasons.”

John shifted. “What reasons?”

Pierre’s eyes were shifty, but he let out a sigh. “Many years ago, when your sire still held that identity, I was… new, myself. My sire had abandoned me, and that abandonment created a… bitter feeling. I did not know what to do with myself. I struggled to acquire blood, and quickly was caught in the middle of such an attempt. I was jailed and sentenced to beheading.”

“Beheading?” John stared. “I thought that was reserved for the nobles. Shouldn’t they have hanged you?”

Pierre chuckled. “In an ordinary case, yes. But my target happened to be the wife of a damned hunter. I was always sure that somehow, he convinced those who sentenced me to break with tradition and give me the blade rather than the noose.”

“You’re alive, regardless.”

“Right, only because of  _ Alexandre.” _

“Papi?”

“That is what you call him? Yes. I don’t know how, for he never told me. I had very little contact with him. Somehow, though, he heard of my case and deduced that I must’ve been a vampire, and a fledgling at that. Just before my sentence was to be carried out, he came to my cell and told me that if I agreed to leave France, they would have me freed. I’ve been in London since.”

“So they saved your life,” John said in a soft voice. He smiled. He enjoyed hearing stories of his vampires before he met them, and this somehow gave him a warm feeling.

“And the least I can do to repay my debt is make sure their own fledgling is returned safe,” Pierre said. He stood, then tapped the stack of towels. “Dry off. I’ll bring you some clothes and we’ll get you home.”

John obeyed, standing from the tub. With the blood scrubbed off, all that remained was the slowly healing burns. As he began to towel off, he wondered just how much trouble he was in.

______________

As they walked through the streets of London, John realized that he wasn’t quite as far from home as he’d thought. They approached the porch light of their home and John stepped up to the door, knocking.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pierre begin to step away. He turned and frowned. “Where are you going?”

Pierre flashed him a smile. “Your vampires had no desire to ever meet me again,” he said. “Even if they won’t recognize me -- perhaps better to not chance it.”

“But you helped me,” John said. “They’ll be happy to--”

The door swung open. Lafayette stood in its place, and he stared at John for a moment before pulling him into his arms.  _ “Petit,”  _ he whispered.  _ “Gentil garçon, mon amour--” _

“Daddy!” John took a deep breath of Lafayette’s scent. “... I’m fine. I’m fine. You can stop…”

“Where did you go?” Lafayette demanded. “You disappeared! We went out to look, but we nearly had a run in with hunters — Alex figured you might come back here, and… What  _ happened?” _

“I just went to get a drink,” John said in a soft voice. “At the tavern, and I met this — this hunter. I didn’t know, and he kept buying me drinks, and…” He swallowed. “I thought he was nice. But he jumped me, with two others, and they were going to stake me. Burn me. I.. killed them and ran.”

Lafayette’s grip on him tightened, claws digging into his arms. He raised a hand to John’s cheek, gently touching the burn.

John glanced over his shoulder. Pierre still stood nearby. “He found me,” he said, drawing Lafayette’s attention. “I mean -- I knocked on his door. He helped me. I was lost.”

“Who are you?” Lafayette said.

“... Pierre duPont.”

Lafayette stared at him for a moment. “Why does that sound familiar?”

Pierre only smiled. “You saved my life, when you were still a noble in France. This is a small return of the favor.”

Lafayette blinked, then nodded slow. “... Alright,” he said. “Thank you.”

Pierre nodded and turned to leave. John watched as he disappeared down the street, until he was pulled inside and the door shut behind them.

Before he knew it, he was being pulled into Alex’s arms. “Don’t you ever fucking leave like that again,” Alex whispered, his face buried in John’s shoulder. “... Ever. Jesus. You scared the shit out of us, Jack.”

“I’m sorry,” John said in a soft voice.

“You said there were three hunters?” Lafayette said.

John looked up and nodded. Alex and Lafayette glanced at each other.

“... You left their bodies there?”

“I didn’t think to do anything with them,” John muttered. “They’re still at the Red Lion tavern.”

“Shite.” Lafayette sighed.

“Hunters will swarm the area. We need to burn them,” Alex said. “Delay it if we can.”

“You do it,” Lafayette said.

“Me?”

“You being so stubborn is a reason this even happened. Go handle it.”

Alex let go of John and scowled. He glared at Lafayette for a moment but didn’t say any more before grabbing his coat and storming out.

“I’m sorry.” John looked up at Lafayette, swallowing. “I wasn’t -- I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t being smart.”

“You’re young, John. You’re new. I don’t expect you to be able to recognize a hunter when you see one.” Lafayette took his hand and pulled him towards the bedroom. There, they sunk onto the bed, and John shifted closer. “Thank God you’re alive. To face three hunters — the odds were not in your favor.”

“Two of them were young. Boys, still. I think they were new to hunting, or at least they didn’t seem very experienced. Wells — the one who I met first — he was the one about to stake me.”

“You need to keep aware,  _ petit.  _ An ordinary human may be able to look past your new abilities, but hunters are trained in such a regard. A high tolerance for alcohol is one such sign that a hunter will notice.” Lafayette cupped his cheek and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You will learn this awareness in time. It will become an instinct, to hide yourself. That is why you mustn’t go out alone.”

“I’m sorry,” John whispered.

Lafayette pulled him into a kiss. “Don’t be sorry. You still have so much to learn. Being a sire means teaching you these things.”

“Is it not safe here anymore? If hunters are going to be alerted — should we leave?”

“No, my love. We may simply stay indoors more often than not. Alex and I know well how to conceal ourselves.”

“Good.” John was drawn to lay back with Lafayette and curled up into his sire’s side. To be so close to him brought out a comforting sensation, and he buried his face in Lafayette’s shoulder, feeling calm once again.

_________________

Walking through the streets of London just two days later, John was sandwiched between Alex and Lafayette as they passed through crowds of people. He took a deep breath of the air, aware of the way Lafayette gripped the hem of his coat, and reached back to make sure his hair ribbon was still in place.

His burns had healed, but he still found himself touching his cheek as though expecting tender flesh.

They stopped abruptly. A man stood before them, a salesman of sorts who spoke quickly about a product he was selling. As Alex stated their disinterest, John looked around the street, towards the tall buildings.

On the corner, by an alley, two men with weatherworn coats sat on some barrels, eyeing the crowds with suspicion. One brushed his coat back, and John swallowed at the sight of a clean white stake on his belt.

A group of red-coated soldiers marched past, obstructing his view, and John was pulled along by Alex. He swallowed, then took a step faster and leaned against Lafayette. “Laf,” he murmured. “Back there, at the alley. Two hunters.”

“They’re everywhere,” Alex grumbled. “Just about every corner. You really set them off, Jacky.”

John looked at the ground with a worried expression.

“Just stay with us,  _ mon amour.  _ They will not attack in the open. They keep themselves just as secret as we do.”

“Okay,” John said quietly. Their hands brushed together, a reassurance that he was with them and he was safe. The dead, horrified eyes of a young hunter seemed burned into his guilty mind and he swallowed, trying to forget it. It had been him or John. Survival, not murder.

At least, he tried to assure himself of that.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out more on tumblr: @coffee-quill


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